


Roll to Fall in Love

by ladyblahblah



Category: Dames and Dragons (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Flashbacks, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13414935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/pseuds/ladyblahblah
Summary: Fran'snot asleep, but whatever. If everyone else can manage to sleep despite everything that's going on, just drift off to dreamland like there isn't some sort ofevil conspiracythey're caught in the middle of, like they didn't just find out that there's some creepy shapeshifter running around and definitely—she thinks, probably, almost for sure—trying tokill the Goddess, well that's justfine.





	Roll to Fall in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Another Guardian character study, this time of my glorious water daughter. "Because of how Fran's character is, I'm gonna have to roll to fall in love." I mean. Like I wasn't gonna do something with that?
> 
> DISCLAIMER: snarky narration within does not necessarily reflect the author's own opinions of certain other characters. Laika, Corbin, you know I love you.

Everyone else is asleep, and that's fine.

_Fran's_ not asleep, but whatever. If everyone else can manage to sleep despite everything that's going on, just drift off to dreamland like there isn't some sort of  _evil conspiracy_ they're caught in the middle of, like they didn't just find out that there's some creepy shapeshifter running around and definitely _—_ she thinks, probably, almost for sure—trying to  _kill the Goddess_ , well that's just  _fine_ . She can be the one who stays up, who stays alert.

She grips the necklace in her hands more firmly, until the chain draws almost painfully tight against her skin, and stares out lake, its dark surface streaked with a bright trail of moonlight. She doesn't really understand how everybody else _can_ sleep. How do they turn their minds off? Sure, maybe that's not so hard for Corbin, but Laika is supposed to have battle instincts, at the very least. The Greater Beasts have to see how serious the situation is—they should be worried right now, shouldn't they? Heck, the Goddess herself seems smart enough to understand how much danger they've just uncovered, and she's the one with her neck on the line, anyway. How can she—how can _any_ of them relax enough to drift off right now?

A faint, warm breeze dances over her skin, skimming over the water's surface. Tiny wavelets spring up in its wake and shimmer in the moonlight, a thousand quietly beckoning fingers. All of this would be easier to deal with in the lake, she knows. It's always dark and peaceful in the water, all comforting pressure and sweet quiet. She might even be able to sleep down there, able to finally let go of the nerves that are twisting her up inside. All she'd have to do is stand up, step forward. It would be so easy just to walk in and let the water surround her.

It would be so easy to let it hide her.

 

 

“ _They want_ lake girl _to be a_ Guardian _?”_

_As insults go, this one uninspired at best. For some reason, though, it's the one that the other kids settled on years ago, and she's never been able to explain to anybody why . . . well. It's not as if she's ever had anybody to explain_ to _,_ _anybody who'd care to hear why, pathetic as it is, it still sends something jabbing at her insides. The fact remains, though, that even if she did, she wouldn't have the first clue how. She couldn't begin to explain that it's the tone of it that sinks sharp hooks into the tender parts of her, because how do you explain everything that tone contains? Disdain; dismissal; superiority; revulsion._

You don't belong here _, it says._ I wish you didn't even exist. _No one's ever said the words, but she's heard them clearly enough regardless._

_Whatever, though. It's not as if she cares what those morons say. Not really. And so she's ready to do now what she always does when she hears them talk about her like this: step out and make them say it to her face. Cowards. They never can._

_Her foot is lifting, her jaw clenching, when—_

“ _You're just jealous.”_

_Fran freezes. She knows that voice. That's Garen—good-looking, popular Garen. He's a year or two older than her, and they've never even spoken before, so why does it sound as if he's sticking up for her? What sort of game is he playing?_

“ _You think you know better than the teachers? Than the Greater Beasts?” Fran hears him snorts dismissively, and she stays frozen where she is, still out of sight. “What, you think they should've picked_ you _instead?”_

_A sullen grumble follows, then laughter from the others. The tide of conversation turns, and no one says another word about Fran for as long as they're in earshot._

_She's still turning it over in her head that evening, worrying at the memory like a sore tooth as she stands in line for a bowl of stew. From the corner of her eye she spots Garen walking in her direction and watches, uncertain, trying her best to ignore the hammering of her heart._

_It's a familiar feeling: anxiety drawing her muscles rigid, stealing her breath and tightening her grip on her wooden bowl and spoon. There's something a little different about it this time, though, a little off, something lighter and almost pleasant that's started fluttering in her stomach._

_Then he sees her, and her body reacts without her conscious direction. Her shoulders relax; her chin lifts up; her face falls into an expression both challenging and dismissive, because what does she care what any of them think about her anyway?_ Couldn't care less _and_ come at me bro _flawlessly merged into one—she's spent years perfecting this look, and she levels the full weight of it against Galen now._

“ _Fra'Nika,” he says to her as he passes, a pleasant expression on his own face as he nods in greeting, and then . . . then he's gone._

_It's nothing. It's not even kindness, really. It only feels like it because, having grown used to cruelty, its simple absence feels like an unexpected gift. She knows that. There was something in his eyes, though, that warms her to the core, that even briefly eases the ever-present irritation of open air and hard-packed earth and the sense of always, always yearning towards something forever out of reach._

_She finds her eyes wandering often after that, seeking him out, placing herself in his path for nothing but the comfort of his respectful gaze and maybe—one day—a smile._

 

 

Fran's toes and fingers curl into the sand, as though the island might just fling her off if she doesn't hold on tight. It feels like that all the time now. Her world is rocking and bucking beneath her and she's only just barely, barely holding on.

No one else seems to feel it the way that she does. Why? _Why_? Why is she the only one who's always so grotesquely out of place, like she's stumbling through a play where everybody knows the lines but her?

What's wrong with her, that she always has to be the odd one out?

She'd thought, for a while there, that maybe that was over. Not entirely, of course—she knows that the core of it will never really fade, that this trembling tension will always be a part of her as long as she's in Estra, suspended on this island like a raindrop that's not allowed to fall. Still, it was better for a while with her fellow Guardians. As irritating as Laika and Corbin are, they'd seemed just as clueless and uncertain as she felt. As long as they were all muddling through together, she thought, it was okay. They'd be okay. For the first time in her life, she hadn't felt like it was only her against the world.

That was before, though. Before she found Alonia's necklace; before they learned the truth about the Goddess; before she found herself here again, hovering at the water's edge and trying to make sense of something no one else can possibly understand.

They all think that things are still the same, that the upheaval happening now is the deviation, rather than the norm. Fran knows better.

Corbin is too short-sighted to see how precarious their situation is, and maybe even Laika's the same, to a certain extent, but maybe she was right, before. Maybe the Goddess isn't too dim or too young to fully absorb the things they learned today. Maybe the news of who she really is isn't keeping her awake tonight because she's—

Fran doesn't want to finish the thought. It's more than just dangerous—it's  _blasphemous_ . Whatever her own misgivings may be, she's still been raised with an unquestionable belief in the Goddess's divinity. She is Estra's savior and creator, and to question her is to question everything.

Fran's fingers tighten again around the necklace in her hand. Is it worse to risk more damage to an already shaky foundation, she wonders, or to close her eyes to the danger that might be standing right in front of her?

After all, it's not like she's never failed to spot a monster before.

 

 

_Alonia is sitting at the edge of the lake when Fran finally emerges, and for a moment she considers simply diving back down below the surface. Today has been one of the worst kinds of days: hard for no particular reason—or at least no reason that she could sufficiently explain—and so, as far as anyone who isn't her can tell, entirely unremarkable. Sometimes the teachers understand when she needs to escape after a particularly grueling lesson, or when the air is so relentlessly hot and dry that she feels as though she's evaporating up into the clouds. They never understand on_ these _days, though, and the lecture is always the same._ Lazy. Disrespectful. Irresponsible. _She doesn't need to hear it again._

_There's no hint of disappointment on Alonia's face, however. There's only a soft, unassuming sort of smile as she watches Fran wade out of the water. It's enough to make Fran's step falter, just for a moment; she's suddenly uncertain what it is she's walking into. She won't be cowed, though, and with her shoulders back, chin held high, she carries on._

_Alonia watches until she's about ten feet away, still knee-deep in the water. Then her attention turns back out over the lake, and Fran's step falters again._

_Her mentor doesn't scold, doesn't even speak; she simply sits, as though she doesn't have a care in the world, as though there's nowhere else she'd rather be than here in the sun with her feet dangling in the water. Fran hesitates, off-balance, and eventually lowers herself to sit awkwardly at Alonia's side._

“ _It's lovely here.” Alonia's voice is strong and smooth as ever, and Fran listens closely, hunting for the hints of annoyance and disappointment she's certain must be there. “I can see why you enjoy it.”_

“ _Yeah.” She fidgets for a moment, pulling the water from her clothes and letting it sink into the sand. The silence is unbearable. “Um. Sorry I ditched on lessons today.”_

_Alonia turns to her then, one dark eyebrow raised and just the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you?”_

“ _Well.” She doesn't_ look _mad, Fran thinks. She almost . . . she almost looks like she might understand, even. If Fran wanted to try to explain. “Kind of?”_

_Alonia laughs at that, and a new warmth blooms behind Fran's ribs at the sound. She sees the smile starting to spread over her own face reflected in Alonia's crinkled eyes, making them sparkle in the sunlight. How long has it been since somebody's smiled at her like that? She doesn't know, but it's suddenly hard to look at. Her own eyes lower, focusing on Alonia's necklace instead as she tries to calm the sudden twisting feeling in her stomach._

“ _Don't worry,” Alonia says once her laughter has died down, though the smile still lingers in her voice. “I'm not here to lecture you about skipping your lessons.”_

“ _Why not?” Fran wants to snatch the words back as soon as she says them, erase the echo of that combative tone from the air between them before it ruins everything. She's about to say something else, to apologize again, maybe, when—_

“ _Because you need this.” The words sound sincere, and when Fran chances another glance at her face, she sees . . . she isn't sure what she sees. Patience, she thinks, and that alone is so unexpected that she finds she can't stop staring. “I'm right, aren't I?” Alonia presses gently. “No one else seems to understand that.”_

_Fran shakes her head mutely. Unbearable to realize that now, when she finally has this chance, when she finally has someone willing to listen, she can't seem to summon up the words. But Alonia doesn't seem to need them._

“ _No one understands_ you _.” It's a barb and a balm at once, to hear someone else echo the truth that she's known for so long. “And none of them can be bothered to try. Any fool can see that. But can I tell you a secret, Fra'Nica?”_

“ _What?” Fran croaks, just barely able to push that one word past the constriction in her throat._

“ _You don't need them.” Alonia's smile hasn't faded, but there's something glittering in her gaze now, compelling and sharp. “You were chosen as a Guardian for a reason. Even the best-intentioned people will try to make you doubt that. They'll want to change you. Make you more pliable, more obedient. But you were chosen—_ you _were chosen, just as you are. And the simple truth is that no one but you gets to decide what that means. Who you are. It's worth remembering that the qualities that others call flaws may well be the very ones that qualified you for this path to begin with.”_

“ _Heh.” The sound that escapes her is too nervous to truly be a laugh. She feels herself canting towards Alonia, palms braced against the sand as she instinctively leans into the warmth of her mentor's approval. “That sort of sounds like you're telling me it's cool to just blow off my training whenever I want.”_

“ _Possibly not_ whenever _you want,” Alonia says with a wider grin, her eyes going soft again. “But I believe that you know best what you need. I believe you know the conditions under which you learn best.” She reaches out with one hand to cup Fran's cheek, and her skin feels so warm, her touch so solid, the contact so unexpected because people don't touch her, they don't, they just_ don't _— “I believe in you.”_

_She pulls her hand back, but too late: Fran's voice has disappeared again. She feels . . . she feels too many things, all of them tangled up together into one big messy ball of emotion that's lodged firmly in her throat. It takes two tries, three, before she's able to work it loose, swallowing it down to let it settle in her belly instead._

“ _I won't let you down.”_

 

 

And she hadn't, had she? She's become, she suspects, exactly the sort of Guardian Alonia wanted her to be all along.

The water is still calling to her, just like it always has. The same way she imagines that the water on the world below might still call to her, if there's any of it left but memories. When Fran tries to picture that world she can only imagine a plane of endless fire, flames somehow still burning after all these generations, the destruction Torva wrought so all-consuming that it's erased so much as the possibility of life.

Could even the biggest body of water survive that? Could anything?

Alonia's necklace is leaving imprints on her palm from where her fist has clenched around it. Easing her grip is difficult, painful, her fingers stiff and sore. Staring down at it in the moonlight, she wants to throw the thing as far away from her as she can. She wants to run back to the giant gaping hole in the world and drop it in, hurl it down into the inferno below.

Her jaw tightens. Her chin lifts. She slips the necklace into the pouch at her waist instead as she pushes herself to her feet.

She's not going to hide this time. Not now. She might never know the truth of why she was chosen, who was behind it, what their motives were. Maybe they picked her because they thought that she'd ignore her responsibilities, that she'd let this world burn just like the one below. Maybe they picked her because she's a misfit, a screw-up who's always been destined for failure. Maybe they thought that she was no one they'd ever have to worry about.

But as poisonous as Alonia's assurances may have been, she was right about one thing: nobody but Fran gets to decide who she is. For now, at least, she knows exactly what that means.

“Like I care what any of you think about me,” she sneers to the moon, to the waves, to the night air and whoever might be listening.

Turning on her heel, she stalks away from the water's edge.

She is a Guardian, and she has a job to do.

 


End file.
